|Sun City|Mars District |03.19.1178|
The first beams of light cast upon the rooftops as morning arrives in Sun City, the capital of Malistia.
While most of the city remains in a deep slumber, the inner districts around the center of the capital—namely Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars—are already bustling with life.
For someone who has never seen this metropolis, it would be hard to grasp that the districts don't function like ordinary city blocks.
In fact, each zone—from Mercury, the first, to Neptune, the last district within the city's bounds—is arranged in concentric rings around a central point.
This "sun" is not a celestial body, but the Grand Palace—serving as both the metaphorical and literal heart of the entire country.
And, as one might have guessed, the people of Malistia have little knowledge of Earth's planetary system—or of Earth itself... at least, not fully.
The names of the districts were found in an ancient scroll, placed in the very first state library over 500 years ago, long before the city was even completed. The legend of multiple bodies orbiting one seemed to fit the former king's vision for what Malistia should become.
The Mars District holds particular significance as the cultural core of Malistia.
It is by far the largest area and attracts immense tourism from all across Eldoria.
Renowned for its luxury hotels, theme parks, opera houses, and theaters, it stands as the pinnacle of Malistia's entertainment industry.
Hannes was never interested in Mars.
The lights, the people, the chatter, the gossip—none of it suited his view of things.
"He's just a random lawyer, someone you'd probably forget after exchanging a few words with him,"—that's what he'd tell shortly before ending a conversation he never wanted, leaving the other person standing awkwardly.
He's relieved, at least, that it's still morning—meaning the most... let's say eccentric types haven't shown up yet.
The sound of carabol claws clicking softly against the cobblestones fills the air.
There's a faint scent of lavender and cinnamon, likely drifting from one of the bakeries popping up now and then along the street.
But it's only a trace, barely cutting through the stench wafting from the garbage containers lining the sidewalk.
Hannes wrinkles his nose as he walks past another container, this one belonging to a rather large Edelium club.
His right hand slips into the left breast pocket of his suit, fiddling with the way-too-tight fabric until he fishes out a small handkerchief.
> > Seems like the waste exterminators have later shifts here than in the Venus District. << he thinks as he walks past a group of men dressed in ridiculously colorful robes, their scarves long enough to wrap around them twice.
Hannes' mood darkens further as he pulls the brim of his hat lower, trying to muffle the group's slurred chatter.
"What a bunch of pathetic lowlifes. Wasting their time, probably consuming more Marburake in one night than I have in my entire life," he mutters, picking up his pace in case someone hears.
Once confident he hasn't drawn attention, he slows down again.
A small but noticeable wrinkle forms on his forehead as he recalls Margaret and that mischievous grin she wore while handing him the card of his newest client.
When he asked why she was looking at him like that, she just waved it off. Then—barely pretending—she acted like someone had called her from across the hall and walked away.
Now Hannes understood why she laughed.
Of course she had.
He was the office joke—the last person you'd ever expect to get a job like this.
That part didn't annoy him because of what it said about him.
It annoyed him because it meant people were talking at all. That he had a reputation now.
He never wanted one. Never needed one. Just like Grifford Lanfield—his personal role model for working in the shadows. Hannes would've gladly stayed behind the scenes forever.
Not because he feared disappointing others, but because he feared losing himself in constantly living up to expectations.
It must be uncomfortable to feel the spotlight on you when your clothes don't even fit.
Hannes had a good income. He wasn't desperate for a raise or any other financial perks that would justify going to such heights.
That ideal had stuck with him for years—too long, probably—and he clung to it like it was all he had.
Which is exactly why this entire situation made him sick to his stomach.
But what even is this job?
In the right pocket of his pants, Hannes still carried the client's card.
Well, if you could even call it that—a torn scrap of paper with a name, number, and address scribbled on it seemed more fitting than the idea that "John Smith" would have gone to a proper printer.
So yeah, visiting the shady owner of this shady "card" in what Hannes liked to call the rock bottom of civilization was not what he'd pictured for his first day back from his two-week vacation.
It's not like he expected something profound to change during his time away. But he had thought that his stay in the village of Larme would change something within him...
The bell of a passing trolley gently lifts him out of his thoughts, his eyes now fixed on the grand building in front of him.
The Blue Feather Hotel—one of the most visited, yet least liked hotels here, as Hannes had learned during his research.
The hotel turned a huge profit by being the only cheap option in the entire district.
It is ironic, really—that in a place as marvelous and magnificent as Mars, the most visited hotel would be the one catering to people who couldn't afford a proper luxury hotel.
But, as always, Hannes had done his research thoroughly. And he knew the real reason why this hotel was so famous—especially in the underground.
> > The Blue Feather Hotel is one of the most discreet and secure hotels in the entire Mars—no, in all of Sun City. The official records only show about 20% of its actual income. <<
> > The other 80% comes from... well, let's just say, more unpleasant customers. <<
> > With that in mind, the real identity of the mysterious client becomes pretty obvious. One of those unpleasant customers, probably in a rush—explaining the sloppy, handwritten info on the card. <<
Hannes sighs.
> > In the worst case, I can simply use 'Wolke' to get away, if this one gets too fishy—Wait, was it a gestic and gastric spell again? <<
Hannes coughs into his right hand.
> > As far as I recall, you do need to make a vocal incantation to produce it. Of course, it is just one word. However, if that client is experienced in fighting, I'm fucked. Maybe I could ask a staff member to come with me in case—No, that would be awkward. And maybe I'd even scare them. <<
He adjusts his hat back to its original position, only now realizing that he had come to a full stop while thinking.
He adjusts his attire before approaching the hotel in a slightly faster pace than before.